


Margaritaville

by Zatsy



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Mutual Pining, Original Character(s), Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-08-20 08:59:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16552829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zatsy/pseuds/Zatsy
Summary: Laika Gagarin, a smuggler, has just had her ship stolen by Skavak. She and Corso Riggs have tracked him to Coruscant, but finding him won't be so easy. On a night out at the cantina, Laika mulls over her situation and her new partnership with Corso.





	Margaritaville

**Author's Note:**

> I've been playing SWTOR for about a month, and I just started on the Smuggler's class story. I haven't gotten past Coruscant yet, but the dynamic between the PC and Corso is intriguing. Will I write more as I play more? Only time will tell.

This cantina was too crowded for Laika’s liking. This was strange because, normally, she didn’t care how busy the bar was. So long as it kept serving her frozen margaritas, the other warm bodies didn’t bother her. She was on her fifth drink, and though she was getting that pleasant fuzzy feeling inside, it wasn’t soothing her the same. She rested her chin in the palm of one hand and swirled the half-full glass in the other. A sigh left her lips. No matter how many drinks she knocked back, her thoughts buzzed around in her head like wasps. She kept turning over everything that happened until it was as smooth as a stone.

If only she hadn’t taken that job on Ord Mantell, she wouldn’t be sitting in this cantina on Coruscant right now. It was no secret that she wanted Skavak’s head on a pike for all the trouble he’d caused her. It felt like she told everyone she met that she wanted him dead. Rogun the Butcher was sending his goons after her because of him, and there were only so many habitable places to hide on Coruscant. Time was of the essence, and she only had so much to spare. Her grip on her glass tightened when she pictured Skavak’s skeevy face. He wouldn’t be laughing when he was looking down the barrel of her blaster. It wasn’t often that Laika felt such seething contempt for one person, or even at all, but nothing would give her greater satisfaction than watching the fire leave his eyes. The heart of the issue, though, was that Skavak had stolen her ship, the Escape. She made it clear that she wanted it back, but every moment she knew that the _Escape_ wasn’t in her possession, she became more impatient and irritated. To anyone else, the cargo-vessel-turned-pirate-ship was a piece of junk. To Laika, it was her entire life encased in a sputtering engine and hasty patch jobs.

Her foot tapped idly against the barstool, and she finished her drink. She hailed the bartender for another, and, in an instant, she had a fresh margarita. She plucked the lime wedge from the rim and licked it. The mix of sour and salty was refreshing and soothing. Her eyes walked down the length of the bar to the sabacc tables. There, she saw Corso Riggs sitting opposite of a Rodian. His face was screwed in concentration as he stared at his cards. She swiveled in her seat and leaned against the bar to watch him. He reached up to brush a stray loc from his face and played his hand. Judging by the Rodian’s defeated expression and slew of curses, it was a winner. A lopsided grin spread across his face as he thanked him for the game and leaned over to collect his winnings. A surly looking Zabrak man took the Rodian’s place. Corso didn’t look phased by the stranger’s glower as the cards were shuffled and dealt.

Laika took a slow sip of her drink as she watched the two men play cards. She recalled that, earlier, Corso had told her that he was only in his early twenties. Going off his sunny demeanor alone, Laika thought he was at least five years her junior. In truth, he was only a year or so older than her. It made her wonder what he had done so differently in his life that he could be so chipper. A sick, heavy feeling weighed on her chest and rose in her throat. It was familiar in the worst way.

It felt like a lifetime ago that she had first boarded the _Escape_. She was maybe eight or nine at the time when her father dragged her to Nar Shaddaa’s spaceport. Her family lived in the Duros Sector, which was controlled tightly by the Hutt Cartel. Her mother had gone missing in the weeks prior to their trip to the spaceport. Later, when she was old enough, Laika, she found out through a friend of a friend that her parents owed money to the Hutts for protection and couldn’t keep up with the fees. That was why her father left her with one of his old pilot buddies, a Twi’lek named Yuri Ratcahu, and got her shipped off-planet as quickly as possible. She didn’t remember much from that day except that her father hugged her for a long time and sobbed as he waved goodbye.

As she watched Corso grab a card from the deck, she thought about what his family was like. Did he have siblings, and, if so, did he get along with them? Were his parents always hard on him, or did they let him roam free? He had told her that the separatists on Ord Mantell had killed them, but, beyond that, she knew nothing about them. It struck a chord in her when he told her, the grief still raw in his voice. Laika knew all too well the sting of having a family ripped away.

She didn’t remember much of her parents, but the crew of the _Escape_ had been like a family of its own. She latched onto Captain Yuri like a leech and followed him everywhere. The other members of the crew were like her aunts and uncles, each of them passing on their pearls of wisdom to her. Brymx Klakt, the Trandoshan lieutenant, taught her how to fight with her fists and a blaster and was a dispenser of tough love. Ruqate Lugon, the Zabrak intelligence expert, spent hours teaching her how to crack ciphers, in addition to cutting her hair whenever it got too long. Corlan Tymis, the Togruta engineer, taught her about the ins and outs of ship maintenance and gave her whatever music players she could find. Itihur Pu, their Cathar pilot, taught her how to steer a ship and win big at sabacc. Laika never forgot their names or faces. There were times when she was all alone that she would think of something to say to them, turn, and then remember that they were gone all these years later.

She wondered if Corso ever did the same. Did he wake up in the middle of the night, thinking that all of this was just a nightmare? Did he run down the hall to check up on his family, only to be reminded that his nightmare was also his reality? A gaping terror grew in Laika’s gut. What if he did, but he was just a better person than she was?

When the _Escape_ ’s crew didn’t return after a job on Tatooine, she did what any unsupervised, grieving seventeen-year-old would do–she buried it with alcohol and sex. If she could get another warm body next to her, she didn’t have to be alone. In the brief pauses of sobriety, Laika could feel the ghosts of disappointment glaring at her. During those moments, she lashed out, angry that they would abandon her to become this horrible person. But, in the end, she got drunk and thought better of them. They would want her to do this, she told herself, they wouldn’t want her to be sad that they’re gone.

Laika’s eyes turned to her drink when Corso wiped the floor with the Zabrak. He was laughing, trying to keep the mood light. She gazed into the pale green slush, and her canine dug into the corner of her mouth. She thought about what he’d told her on Ord Mantell, that he was the kind of man to tip his hat and open doors for ladies. He’d said that right after they caught Syreena consorting with Skavak. It threw her for a loop. If anybody was deserving of a hole in her head, it was Syreena. On one hand, Laika found the sentiment sweet. It would be admirable if they were farmers on Ord Mantell, but they were doing more than nerf-herding. They had to get their hands dirty, and their enemies didn’t play fair. There women out in the galaxy that wouldn’t think twice about leaving him full of holes. Women like Syreena. Women like her.

When she thought about all the things she’d done to get to where she was, it made her throat dry. Corso had followed her around like a lost puppy ever since he laid eyes on her on Ord Mantell. At the time, it was cute–funny, even. She indulged him here and there because the flattery felt nice. But then the stakes got higher. Viidu was dead, Corso had nothing to tie him to Ord Mantell, and the once flattering infatuation scared her. He was sweet on her, too sweet, and he didn’t know what he was wanting. Laika couldn’t pretend that she was someone she wasn’t. Her work was dirty. She was dirty.

She still joked around with him, but she kept a firm distance. Every time Laika saw that lovelorn look in his eyes, it made her nauseous. She tried to forget about it by flirting around the spaceport, but when she saw the hurt in his face, it cut her to the quick. She rebuffed Darmas Pollaran on their first meeting, something she would never have done in any other situation, all because she knew that Corso was standing right beside her.  
Laika grumbled and slammed her glass on the bar top. She leaned forward and put her hands in her short, thick red hair. She squeezed her eyes shut and heaved a sigh.

“What the hell am I supposed to do?” she asked no one. She wasn’t some virginal schoolgirl with her first crush. She was no stranger to one-night stands or even more serious relationships. Whenever she did end up getting attached, it was the player being played. She had sworn off serious relationships and had only fun flings. But Corso was no aloof fling. He was, objectively, a great partner. He knew his way around a blaster, and he had her back when it counted. He didn’t shy away from the more illegal aspects of their job, but he insisted on treating everyone with respect. Especially her. He treated her with more respect than she deserved.

_“So, if I feel so bad about it, why don’t I ditch him?”_ she thought as she licked the salt from the rim of the glass. She pictured kicking Skavak’s ass seven ways to Sunday and getting the _Escape_ back. She would take Corso out for a couple of rounds of drinks to celebrate. He’d have too much to drink, and she’d get a motel room for the night. As soon as he was out cold, she’d slip out and fly the ship somewhere where nobody would think to look for her. It was a sound plan. But her mind started to wander. She imagined him waking up in a dark motel room with a splitting headache. He would call out for her, but she wouldn’t be there to answer. Worried, he’d get out of bed and fight his awful hangover to talk to the front desk. When they won’t tell him anything because she paid them not to, he’d book it to Darmas Pollaran. He’d tell him sorry, he doesn’t know anything, keeping the fact that she paid him to keep quiet to himself. Corso would slump onto a couch and wonder how she could leave him behind after everything they had gone through. Just the thought of his feelings of betrayal felt like broken glass in her chest. Before she could imagine him crying, she crumpled up the idea and threw it in the metaphorical trash can.

_“Admit it,”_ an annoying voice sneered. _“He cares about you just like they did. You don’t want him close because you’re afraid of losing him. You’ve already lost two families, and you don’t know if you can handle losing anyone else.”_

“Captain?” Corso’s upbeat voice pierced through her stupor. Laika sat up from her hunched over position. If the swagger in his posture was any indicator, he’d won big at the sabacc tables. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but his eyes looked at the glass in her hand and then darted back up to her face. The cocky grin fell from his face and his eyebrows knitted. “How many have you had? You look a little...y’know.” He flapped his hand in a so-so motion.

“Not enough,” Laika snipped, downing the rest of her margarita. Corso frowned.

“C’mon, Laika,” he coaxed. “I think it’s time to turn in for the night.” 

Laika grumbled a curse under her breath. There he went again, concerned for her well-being like some kind of...good person. Okay, maybe she was a little drunk. If she couldn’t even think of a witty name to call him, she was more far gone than she thought. She swiveled around and waved to the bartender. She paid her tab, turned around, and hopped down from the bar stool. She regretted that immediately. The floor underneath her felt like a water bed. She stumbled as she tried to get her bearings. Corso, being taller than her, ducked and put her arm around his shoulders to stabilize her. Laika couldn’t tell if she was blushing because he was holding her close, or if it was the six margaritas. She leaned against him for support. He was sturdy and supported her easily. He smelled earthy, like worn leather. It was nice, she thought as he led her away from the bar one step at a time.

What followed was a blur. She faintly remembered Corso hailing a taxi and helping her in. She must have nodded off on the ride, because the next thing she knew, they were in the front lobby of a motel. He hoisted her up again and guided her to their motel room. When she saw a bed, she squirmed away from him and shuffled to sit on the foot of it. She plopped down with all the grace you would expect from a drunk person. She leaned over to rest her elbows on her knees and cradle her head in her hands. She groaned loudly and tried to focus on the pattern of the carpet. All she wanted was for the world to stop moving for one minute.

“You okay? You want me to grab you a trash can?” Corso asked, hushing his voice to avoid giving her a headache. Laika did what she thought was shaking her head from side to side but was more like palming her head like a basketball from one hand to the other. She dragged her hands down her face. She looked up at him, and he looked at her with the same concern as a mother hen. A crooked grin spread across her face.

“Thanks,” she said, lingering a little too long on the “s” sound. “I’m gonna...gonna...um...go to bed. Yeah,” She paused to yawn and smack her lips. “Thanks, Corso. You’re a good dude. Way too good, in fact. You need to watch out for yourself, man,” Corso, caught off guard, chuckled.

“I will, Captain, promise. But you really should get some rest,” he said. Laika nodded slowly and scooted backwards onto the bed. She rooted around for the pillow constricted by the tightly made covers. Once she had retrieved it, she wiggled onto her side and curled up with one arm stretched out to bump against the headboard. She heard the soft squeal of box springs and knew that he’d sat down on the bed next to her. She frowned and thought about how cold it was.

“Corso?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m cold,”

“Um...do you...uh...I can turn the heat up...?”

“Mhmmm...”

She was fighting so hard to keep her eyes open that she didn’t see the way Corso fumbled with what was a simple A/C system. The cheap machine roared to life, and a blast of warm air sputtered out of the vents.

“Mmm...thanks...” she murmured. “G’night, Corso.”

“Goodnight, Laika.”


End file.
